


Whumptober #20 Lost in Translation

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, Confusion, Ekon Geoffrey, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan vs Modern Technology, Kitty Ekon Jonathan, M/M, Magical Bullshittery, Medical Procedures, Modern Era, Modern Inconveniences, Sire/Progeny, Time Travel, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27095371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: Jonathan faced the Disaster and defeated it but in one last gesture of cruelty from the Red Queen to mock the Champion's victory, she sends Jonathan through a strange and bloody portal where he wakes up a Century later in 2018.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 39
Kudos: 96





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Memento_Mori2](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memento_Mori2/gifts).



> This was a whumptober prompt from Memento_Mori2 for Jonathan Reid lost in our time period.  
> I hope you enjoy it! It was originally intended to be a oneshot but once i started writing it i got a lot more ideas so now its multiple chapters. Enjoy!

_'You fought valiantly my Champion and yet, a bittersweet payment awaits you my child. Fear not and do not allow magic and mystery to deceive you for they are nothing more than man's science and will.'_

Jonathan felt the echo of those words like a storm wind battering him relentlessly. His body ripped and wrenched apart in turmoil as shadows enveloped him in a bloody endless abyss. It raged against the ever turning spirals around him until he felt on the cusp of madness, screaming for a reprieve from it all. 

As quickly as it came, there was silence. 

A cold, sterile constant silence.

And then, there was life. Jonathan's limbs felt too heavy to move as sound slowly leaked in. The sound of footsteps on a tile floor, the familiar stinging scent of antiseptic flooded his nostrils and the deathly chill of a metal table firmly at his back. He could make out the faint phantom trace of a sheet placed over him, the tingly touch against his face as shadows lingered on the other side of his eyelids, illuminated briefly by the introduction of bright lights from somewhere else in the room.

"Who do we have today?" A voice chimed with an underlying weariness, a heavy weight of a yawn bordered on the man's words as they tangled with the familiar notes of an Irish accent. He heard something click and felt a tug on his foot. "The John Doe from this morning. Let's find out how you died, mate."

_'Died? I beg your pardon, but I am not_ **_dead_ ** _in the slightest.'_ He wanted to speak up but his body refused to allow him the opportunity. His fingers twitched in a futile attempt, allowing only the tiniest nearly imperceivable movement in response.

"That's odd." The man seemed to be rifling through pages as he shifted beside the table. "No signs of rigor mortis when the boys in blue picked you up." Jonathan felt the discomfort of the sheet being moved and in a strange and rather mortifying turn of events, he swore he was without a single scrap of clothing if the way a draft tickled at his skin was anything to go by. 

_'This is unsightly.'_ Jonathan hissed inwardly. _'The indecency! At least have the modesty to cover me up.'_

"There isn't any signs of exterior trauma on the body. No defensive wounds." The man mumbled to himself, warm fingers touched the length of the ekon's arms, leaving him uncomfortable with the unwanted attention to his body. He wanted to bare his fangs and sneer at the man but his body refused to obey his efforts.

"Hopefully someone will claim you mate. Be a crying shame to go unwanted. Judging by your clothes, you had an interesting life." The man chuckled. "I've been considered a vintage collector myself but to your extent...what sort of story did you have to lead to an end like this?"

As much humor as Jonathan thought this whole scenario contained as the man spoke to what he presumed to be an unhearing corpse, he wasn't pleased with the implications of where this was headed. 

The hands drew away after a moment, brushing against the skin of his shoulder before both hands cupped his head firmly and carefully rotated it from side to side. "Scarring is old. The bridge of your nose looks like it may have been broken twice if I'm not mistaken. A timely gentleman getting in a scrap?" The man mused.

His hands withdrew quickly as a door squealed somewhere beyond the room. 

"Sir, I'm afraid you can't be back here." The man nearly barked as Jonathan honed in on the lazy and leisurely gait of familiar footsteps. He could almost see it, the adjusted stance to avoid jostling the heavy sword on his hip as his progeny nearly strutted with feline grace. Not a wasted movement to be had.

"Sergeant McCullum, _An Garda Sìochána_ ." His voice was clearer than Jonathan remembered, maybe it was a mistake on his part but there was a note of undeniable Englishness to it. As if Geoffrey had begun to _lose_ a bit of his accent with time. That couldn't possibly make sense given the irrefutable fact that he had just spoken with his Progeny the day prior. A final bittersweet parting before he made his way into those bloody sewers, rife with carnage and the stench of rot. "I'm here to retrieve the recent John Doe."

"I haven't even started the autopsy." The man blurted in frustration.

" _It's no longer necessary."_ Geoffrey's voice carried the unmistakable power of mesmerism as the man fell quiet.

"Alright. He's yours. Sign here." There was a shuffling of papers in response as a pen scratched ink into the parchment.

"You've worked hard, lad. Why dontcha take the night off? I'll be sure to lock up for ya." Geoffrey pressed, teasing along the edges of his powers as Jonathan's predecessor. A talent he had quickly grown skilled in it appeared. Jonathan wasn't certain whether it could be attributed to his lineage or Geoffrey's familiarity with ekon abilities through his own efforts. Nonetheless, Jonathan was both impressed and relieved by the actions of his progeny.

Moments slowly crept by as the man left them to the privacy of the exam room. After a few seconds, Jonathan heard his progeny sigh heavily. The weight of anxiety slowly edged along his thoughts and Geoffrey laid a hand on his arm thoughtfully.

"That was a close one. Jesus christ Reid, what the fuck happened to you?" There was a snort as something warm and heavy laid over his body. "Yer lucky I saw yer mug on the telly otherwise you'd be a pile of pieces right now being dissected and examined."

There was some rustling around as Geoffrey moved a few things. "Yer freezing. A right damn leech-sicle."

_'Please spare me the humor Geoffrey.'_ Jonathan would have rolled his eyes had he the ability. Actually, he wasn't sure if he could open his eyes. The thought hadn't necessarily occurred to him to try. The attempt was made and he suffered for it as blinding light beamed back at him causing them to tear up in agitation. 

"Easy Reid. Give me a minute and I'll have you back on your feet." Jonathan wasn't sure how Geoffrey intended to do just that, but as several minutes seemed to pass by, he caught the tantalizing whiff of blood from his progeny then felt the brief sting of a needle entering his own arm. For starters, Jonathan was impressed with the placement of the intravenous line and the skill at which his progeny exhibited, along with his quick thinking.

As the warmer blood from Geoffrey started to flow into Jonathan, it helped essentially thaw him from the chilled blocklike existence he was stuck in. A faux hibernation it would seem. The second time he risked opening his eyes, he spied the bright surgical lights above, unfamiliar and far stronger than the ones in Pembroke's surgical theatre. Under different circumstances he may have taken a moment to be impressed and examine his surroundings but he hadn't the luxury with danger so close at hand.

Geoffrey was at his side in strange garments he had never seen before though they still managed to make his roguish charm a priority, accentuating it in tighter layers of black with a new red scarf tucked around his throat haphazardly. A brown paper bag was held out with the words JOHN DOE on it. Underneath it, hastily scrawled appeared to be a series of numbers that resembled the format of a date though the ekon couldn't figure out what 2018 meant.

Perhaps a form of inventory markings? He's certainly seen stranger methods.

“Reid?” Geoffrey spoke carefully as Jonathan examined the tube coming from his arm and leading into his progeny’s. The sleeve was hastily rolled up to mid bicep, exposing the pale length of his arm. A small band rested on his wrist telling what Jonathan assumed to be time in big colorful block letters that glowed.

Jonathan parted his lips to speak but words failed him as his chest seized and tightened. He rasped, a painful wheeze that ground out with a brief and terrifying panic that filled his eyes.

“Don’t speak.” Geoffrey grunted and stepped closer until he was looming over the doctor with a look of concern. “Yer still warming up and adjusting.”

_‘That makes sense.’_ Jonathan thought it over, rolling it around in his head as he slowly sat up on the table with Geoffrey’s assistance. One hand lingered to steady him as the hunter proceeded to rip open the paper bag and reveal the doctor’s belongings. His clothes, the items within had been carefully categorized in little plastic bags. There was a note on the exterior detailing that strange vials and compounds had been sent off to a forensic lab for testing. Given the description, Jonathan assumed they meant the syringes he used for a boost from time to time and the medicine he often carried on his person to treat his patients. His weapons appeared to also be missing, his service pistol and hacksaw were absent, a sentimental loss that he felt terribly annoyed with.

Geoffrey removed the transfusion line to help Jonathan get dressed. Every movement took far more effort than he anticipated and left him feeling sluggish and exhausted. A bone deep ache that twinged with sharp jolts of pain as if his very limbs were too brittle to withstand the most simple of movements. Like fractured glass splintering off shard by terrifying shard.

“Easy Reid.” Geoffrey directed as he quickly buttoned Jonathan’s shirt up and helped him get his trousers on. His progeny seemed concerned only with getting him clothed enough to move without being questioned, and tucked the rest of the articles of clothing under his arm as he tied the doctor’s shoes for him. He offered an arm to get him off the table and bore his weight when Jonathan lost his balance and started to slip towards the ground.

“Come on. We gotta get moving.” Geoffrey urged, manhandling the doctor with a stronger grip keeping him on his feet as he pulled him along the sterile white walls of what appeared to be a morgue.

_‘How did I find myself here of all places?’_ Jonathan blanched inwardly.

“I’d like to know that myself honestly.” Geoffrey retorted. 

_‘Ah, yes, I forgot you could hear me.’_ Jonathan was sheepish at that. Being a maker was a new experience, having a strong connection with his progeny, so much so that he could share his thoughts and memories with them.

Geoffrey snorted. “A hundred years and not so much as a hello, how are you, hunter?”

_‘Now who’s being dramatic? I just spoke with you last evening hunter.’_ Jonathan sighed, wincing inwardly at the twinge of pain that sparked within his chest at that. Geoffrey turned to stare at him in confusion, his grip tightening on Jonathan’s arm so much so it pained the doctor.

“Reid, you’ve been gone for a century. You went off to face the Disaster and never came back. We thought you were dead.”

_‘What? Don’t be preposterous, Geoffrey. Whatever ploy this is to fool me, it’s not working.’_ Jonathan grimaced at the thought. Geoffrey gripped his arm tightly and practically dragged Jonathan towards a metal doorway. Opening it, he was greeted with an assault to the senses, lights and unfamiliar sounds. His eyes watered and the air smelled worse than the English smog that rolled above the factories near Southwark. There were things that resembled an automobile and proper English lorries but they were bigger and louder and covered in eye wateringly bright lights. He stumbled, dizzy and confused, bumping back into Geoffrey who held him tight against his side.

“Take a look around, Reid. Does this look like I’m yanking yer leg for kicks?”

_‘I...well-’_ Jonathan started but couldn’t finish the words as the tightening knot of distress started to give way to nausea. _‘I feel as if I’m going to be sick.’_

“Fucking hell.” Geoffrey hissed and pushed him towards the wall where he could lean against it for support without retching his guts up onto the hunter. It was, to put it simply, a lot to take in all of a sudden and the putrid stench of the surroundings nearly rivaled that of the London sewers. Somewhere, he caught a whiff of the river on the air, yet even that had changed so much and left him floundering for something familiar to hold onto.

After several minutes, he refrained from losing what little was in his stomach as Geoffrey laid a hand over his back and started to steer him towards one of the strange automobiles. It was more compact than what he was accustomed to, with enclosed windows and doors painted in a midnight black. The doctor startled when Geoffrey took something from his pocket causing the vehicle to light up and rumble to life. He jolted suddenly, his grasp on the hunter’s arm tightened with apprehension.

Geoffrey chuckled in amusement. “Easy Reid, it won’t bite.” He led him around to the left passenger side of the vehicle and opened the door. The interior was saturated with the scent of his progeny, infiltrating every inch of the space, both familiar and strange. The underlying hints of old blood lingered in a few places as Jonathan settled against the upholstered seat. Geoffrey closed the door and opened the one in the back directly behind him to place his belongings on the seat. A moment later, he slid into the driver side behind the wheel. Jonathan watched with concern as the hunter fiddled with a panel of glowing buttons and dials that lit up with a pale light at his touch. Air blew in towards him, warming his chilled skin as it tickled his face. A series of numbers and letters appeared on a glowing box above them, followed by the loud and startling sound of music that assaulted his ears.

Words and lyrics he had no way to perceive filled his ears causing the doctor to clasps his hands over them. Geoffrey turned to dial quickly with a note of apology towards his Sire.

“Sorry, usually gets me in the mood for a shift. A bit of rock probably isn’t the best introduction to this world.” There was a bit of amusement at the end as Geoffrey appraised his sire thoughtfully, watching as he slowly lowered his hands and felt his head throb from the overstimulation of it all.

_‘A shift?’_ Jonathan asked, folding his hands into his lap with mounting anxiety, fearful of touching anything strange. Geoffrey took a moment to situate himself comfortably as he skillfully navigated them out onto the street. The vehicle seemingly glided along the road, with little bumps and jostling but the speed at which they traveled was a bit nauseating for Jonathan as the world passed by in a blur.

“I have a job. It’s not so easy to hide these days, Reid. The technology has gotten smarter, more advanced. Leeches had to adapt to survive. They can’t hide in their castles or sewers anymore.” Geoffrey explained with a stern look on his face as he stared out the windshield. It started to sprinkle as rain blurred the lights of other vehicles. It was jarring to Jonathan, seeing so many people traveling in the night but lights burned brightly on every building as people walked the streets with parasols, mingling in and out of what appeared to be shops and bistros. 

“What I said earlier wasn’t a lie. I work for Dublin police now.”

_‘Dublin? Wait, does that mean we’re no longer in London?’_ Jonathan leaned against the door to gain enough leverage to twist and face Geoffrey now. His elbow struck something that caused the window to open, making the ekon panic as he whirled back. Rain splattered him through the crack as the wind whipped at the side of his face with the overwhelming scent of the world outside. He could smell something cooking mingling with the stench of everything else foul and unpleasant.

“Dammit Reid, do I need to use the child locks?” Geoffrey hissed. “Actually, feck it. I’m activating them.” There was a resounding click in response as Geoffrey pressed a button and the window rolled up. 

Jonathan frowned at that. _‘Geoffrey, please. I’m not an infant.’_

“Don’t touch anything.” Geoffrey growled and turned his attention back towards the window, focusing on the smooth black terrain before them. What a strange and obscene world he had fallen into, with a Geoffrey he knew so little about now. Was Priwen still around? He knew the hunter had left them behind when Jonathan had forced a choice upon him, taking up the mantle of his new and dangerous identity before the doctor left to face his own destiny. How much had changed? What had truly happened to him? 

These questions swirled around his mind, dancing just beyond his reach as he mulled everything over. It would have been far more productive without the subtle sway and motion of the vehicle as Geoffrey stopped, slowed down or took sharp turns that made his stomach roll. Normally he wasn’t one for motion sickness and yet, he chalked it up to his recent unpleasant awakening as to why now he was so sensitive to everything.

_‘Geoffrey, please slow down.’_ Jonathan pleaded.

“I’m already going 35 in a 40 area, Reid. I can’t go much slower than that.” Geoffrey retorted, waving his hand at the road as if those words meant anything to the doctor.

_‘Geoffrey, please. My constitution is fragile at the moment.’_ Jonathan replied, hopeful for some sympathy towards his plights. Geoffrey’s jaw tightened, the tendrils of frustration snaking back through their connection felt hotter than Jonathan remembered. He ignored the urge to flinch away from his progeny as the vehicle began to slow a little more.

“We’re almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”

_‘’Where are we going?’_ Curiosity was all he had at the moment to spare and Jonathan felt a needling sense of apprehension towards the limited information his progeny was willing to divulge at these questions. He had so many but struggled to find the right words for it all. It felt as if every question was only furthering his progeny’s growing irritation, something of which he’d rather not be locked in a tiny rolling box when the ugly head of Geoffrey’s temper flared back. He was in no shape to counter his progeny’s lash and barbed words, be it by the end of a blood spear or the tip of his tongue at which they fell.

“My home. It’s not far. I’ve grown fond of easier commutes in recent years. Traffic is fecking morbid in this damn city.”

Jonathan blinked. He didn’t necessarily know what any of that meant and he refrained from poking for further explanation. Instead, he focused on his hands in his lap and curled his fingers into fists to work the stiffness out of them. The warm air helped but his body still had a long way to go before he could consider himself able bodied enough to function on his own.

“I’ll run ya a bath when we get home. It’ll thaw you out faster than this.” Geoffrey waved his hand pointedly towards the vents in the paneling. Jonathan simply nodded at that and settled back against the seat, willing his nausea away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geoffrey's car is an unmarked Ford Interceptor SUV that he often uses for both his police work and vampire hunting.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonathan gets his voice back and finds out a little of what he missed on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the supportive eager readers out there that have kept me motivated to write. This fandom keeps me going and I adore it. Thank you so much. And a special heartfelt thanks to the support of the Pembroke Hospital discord server and the amazing users there that keep making wonderful content.

“Baths fix everything.” Geoffrey sighed as he dried his hands off. It took a bit of finagling but Jonathan sighed in blessed relief as the warm water rose up to his neck. To his immense surprise, Geoffrey’s home had the most lavish bath he has ever had the good fortune of soaking in, with instant unlimited hot water.  _ Imagine that! _

He could feel his limbs waking up as he thawed, the familiar pins and needles sensation was unpleasant for the moment but would quickly fade. The hunter didn’t seem bothered to offer an additional hand as he laid out towels, added scented soaps to the water that foamed and bubbled, obscuring the view of his naked body. What embarrassment he may have harbored at the indecency of it all was lost in the situation as Jonathan relaxed for what felt like the first time in years.

“Ya good now Reid?” Geoffrey inquired softly, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as his knuckles glistened with the lingering dampness of the water. Jonathan noticed that unlike his own ghostly death like pallor, Geoffrey still looked alive and thriving. No different to the man he had once butted heads with in the attic of the hospital on that fateful evening.

His eyes remained the same deep blue they always had been, like an enticing oasis in the center of a desert plane, luring him in to drink deeply of its depths. A temptation that the doctor had denied himself so fiercely right up to the end. A battle he had won against time and time again right up until those bittersweet moments when the hunger had clawed at his thoughts until he verged on complete and utter madness. Yet, he continued to deny himself, even after turning the hunter into his progeny, he still refused the call that would sate his carnal desires most. He refused to give in and break that last shred of trust that made him a monster in Geoffrey’s eyes.

Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder if he still lingered on that boundary line, now that so much time had passed and the hunter was  _ caring  _ for him. His earlier agitation in the automobile still lingered, though Geoffrey was more relaxed since they entered his home. A quaint little suburban townhouse, it was cozy, big enough for a single tenant to occupy with a style that Jonathan could only describe as  _ clean  _ and  _ organized.  _ The colors weren’t loud and boisterous like many opulent West End homes were, with lavish golds and obscene luxury written on every surface. Geoffrey’s home was  _ modest  _ or as close to it as he considered how little he actually knew of this age.

“Reid?” Geoffrey repeated, pulling the doctor from his reverie as he nodded in mild confusion.

“Yes?” His voice was still a breathless rasp but it didn’t pain him so much to use it as his body quickly adjusted with the help of the bath.

“You alright for a little bit?” Geoffrey repeated, brows knitted with concern for the doctor.

He bobbed his head again in response. “I am.”

“If ya need me, I’ll just be outside.” He hiked his thumb over his shoulder back towards the rather spartan bedroom. It, like the rest of the house, was clean and neat, from the rows of books organized almost obsessively on the shelves to the military precision in which he made his bed. Jonathan thought he had spotted Lisa standing prominently next to Geoffrey’s bed but hadn’t the opportunity to inquire about it. He wasn’t certain how long a plant could live but he still withheld an inkling of hope. Otherwise, the latter would leave him too mournful as he considered her among all the rest of the people he had lost to time.

How cruel a fate, as he risked his life to save a London that no longer exists in this time. His friends, his family, his colleagues, all of them lost to him in another age so far away. Did they notice he was missing? Did they look for him? Mourn? Question what had happened? Those who knew of his plights and the war he fought were either already dead or were in this building with him. Had a single soul in London cared in his absence? Or had they written him off as another unreliable soul that fled when the world became ugly and frustrating. He was aware that a few unfortunate patients he cared for had thought so bitterly of him.

Jonathan forced himself through the idle motions of cleaning himself up if only to distract himself from his morbid thoughts. He furrowed his brows in concentration as he scrubbed his skin clean of any lingering residue. He had found a few questionable sources of filth that he found trouble in discerning whether or not he picked them up in the sewers or in whatever rabbit hole he had fallen out of when he tumbled into this time.

Feeling refreshed, and reluctant to leave the bath, Jonathan coaxed himself out of the water and let the lukewarm droplets race down his pale skin. The earlier presence of large bruising along his back and thighs as Geoffrey’s blood entered his body and sluggishly moved about, had faded now as the addition from his progeny had successfully integrated with his own.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way into the bedroom where Geoffrey had laid out some clothing for him. Jonathan felt a little odd trying to make sense of the large jacket-like item. It was thick with a hood like attachment and strings around the neck. He gave them a gentle tug and noticed it crinkled the hood. The undergarments were simple enough to understand but the trousers Geoffrey left for him were of a dark navy blue soft baggy material with similar strings to the jacket around the waist that tightened when tied. They were all surprisingly comfortable as he adjusted the fabric though the jacket left him feeling strange as he rolled the sleeves up to mid elbow and left the hood down.

“Geoffrey, is this truly meant to be worn indoors?” Jonathan called, feeling his voice grow steadier and stronger as his body recovered quickly from his ordeal. He found the hunter in the small kitchen tucked off to the side away from the living room space and the entryway.

“It’s called a hoodie, Reid.” Geoffrey answered simply as he busied himself with a bottle of blood he just had soaking in a bowl of warm water. Seeming satisfied with its temperature, the ekon opened the bottle to take a drink, staring over the lip of the container at the ridiculous spectacle before him. Jonathan felt exposed with such loose and unusual clothing. He had a sneaking suspicion that Geoffrey was gently mocking him with the abnormal wardrobe choice though he will admit it was comfortable and the material was pleasantly soft against his skin. 

"It's lazy day wear." Geoffrey explained.

"I'm not fond of the implication that I indulge in those sloth like practices." Jonathan frowned.

"Too bad, leech. Today you are."

"What are you drinking?" Jonathan quickly navigated the conversation to a more interesting topic such as the dietary choices of his progeny.

"Leech blood."

"The invertebrate or…." Jonathan trailed. 

"I'd consider them all spineless worms." Geoffrey retorted. "But no, it's the more human kind. I've gotta hunt harder for my meal. It's not as simple as catching rats in gutters like you."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm a nemrod, Reid. I feed on other vampires. I can't stomach any other blood. As amusing as that once was, the times have changed and my prey grows scarce." Jonathan had heard some rumors regarding Nemrods and their elusive existence. An incredibly rare and powerful form of ekon. From what he gathered of Swansea's notes, they could pass themselves off as human even to the critical eye of their own kind, they were easily missed. Suddenly Jonathan understood now.

"Why don't you ask Sean for help? I'm certain he has something that could make your life easier." Geoffrey laughed at that, a painful dry laughter that was accompanied by a tight smile. 

"Funny. You never noticed, huh? Since you woke up?"

Jonathan frowned. What was so amusing about that? He took a moment to think but there wasn't anything particularly unusual about his awakening other than the strange period. "What do you mean, Geoffrey? Noticed what?"

"Sean's dead, Reid. Priwen hunted him down like a dog in the Night Shelter after you left." Geoffrey snarled. A sudden cold dread lanced through the doctor as he honed in on the absence. It was true. He could no longer feel the quiet connection to the peaceful saint. The softened warmth of his presence was painfully absent like a winter sun blocked out permanently by a snowstorm. "I couldn't save him. Fucking hell Reid, you made me into this beast. Had I still been human, Sean would still be alive. You've no idea how many people died and suffered without him watching over the East End. Nobody trusted Priwen again after that. My legacy,  _ my life _ , everything I've ever known, gone. Just like that."

"Geoffrey, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I was trying to save a city-"

"You turned me into an abomination and left me alone in that damn city. You were no better than yer own maker in the end."

Jonathan was stunned, recoiling away from the counter as the full brunt of Geoffrey's words impaled him. A raw and bloody blow made worse as the hunter turned to leave, gathering his coat in hand as he barked back.

"I've got work. Don't touch a damn thing." He juggled the bottle in his hand as he opened the door and prepared his keys to lock up after himself. Jonathan was left staring after his progeny, the barbed words carved into his proverbial skin like the sharp edges of a hot fire poker. He writhed in their honesty and felt the true weight of his actions crumbling down around him. He had truly subjected his progeny to the same miserable injustice his own maker had done. Without a reason justifiable enough to excuse his cruelty towards them, his volatile selfishness that had become the mausoleum for his good intentions, may they rest in shattered pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be Geoffrey's pov.


	3. Chapter 3

Geoffrey was exhausted despite having only just woke a few hours prior in the day. The whole ordeal with Reid had drained the nemrod of his spare energy and left him scowling at his desk with mild disgust. The expression did well to keep his troublesome subordinates from capitalizing on his foul mood to stir the shit pot up for some hot gossip. What he would normally take as endearing tomfoolery would be a quick shot to parking duty in no time flat.

Of all the jobs he’s had in the years following his turning, this was probably the one he enjoyed the most. His previous jobs working at an automotive factory and a small pub were just as satisfying with their own ups and downs, but since he left the command of Priwen to the next generation, this was the most gratifying job since. Quite the irony, now as he stood as a Sergeant in the Dublin Police, how he often tussled with and fled the bobbies around London, scrambling after him as a fretful youth and even later into his adulthood as Priwen skirted the edge of the law to carry out their duties. He’s certainly had his fair share of scuffs with nightsticks drawn and brought to his body after a bit too much drink.

Maybe it was those past experiences from his youth or maybe it was a softened heart after years of turning troublesome youths into determined soldiers willing and loyal in their fight against the scourge of England. Stepping into this position felt like putting on an old beloved and well worn coat, the seams a little newer and the buttons polished up to a fancy shine, but it was the same nonetheless. Comfortable and easy going.

He had a good group of devoted men and women under his hand and lacked the bitter necessity that accompanied vampire hunting. How little there was ever any actual violence or danger in Dublin aside from the rare car chase and the even rarer murder. Most of their busts involved drugs, illegal firearms and stolen goods, often at the hands of irresponsible youths.

Some part of him deep down wanted to do better, to be a better man in the end. For Reid’s sake and Sean’s. They had been the pinnacle of what he had come to idolize in vampires. Men, yes,  _ men  _ who defied their bloody horrific nature to help their fellow man no matter their urges or bestial desires. They helped instead of harmed. They put their respective oaths before themselves and until recently, he believed they had died for them.

Geoffrey had dragged himself out of his fretful reverie, afraid if he stared at his computer anymore he may just burn a hole through it. The damn thing was already a bitch and a half to get to function, he didn’t need it fried on top of that. Forcing himself to his feet, he went to collect a cup of water from the break room, passing by one of his subordinates who leaned around the doorway with a look of apprehension. They needn’t knock, Geoffrey could already hear and smell their approach. 

O'Reilly was a hardass most days, with a stiff upper lip and no interest in games when it came to work. Yet, she still had a fond spot for the lads in their unit, and she was a doting almost sisterly figure to some of the boys. She often kept them in line when Geoffrey was out of the office, and would spoil the lads with pastries from her brother’s bakery down on the street. She was relatively new to the unit and was still dancing eggshells around him when on her lonesome. Geoffrey chalked it up to newbie nerves. Little did he know, it was just a greenhorn crush that made her so anxious around him. Captain Mingus informed him fondly after a shift late one evening, teasing the nemrod as he urged him to join the rest of the mates down at the pub. 

She knocked on the threshold to warn him of her presence at his back.

“Aye, O’Reilly?” Geoffrey asked as he pawed through the cabinets for a mug to fill with water. Cursing under his breath, she spoke up softly.

“Cornwall moved the mugs to the opposite cabinet, Sarge.”

“When the hell did he do that?” Geoffrey grunted as he threw the cabinet open to find all of their coffee cups carefully organized by color. 

“He said it was more aesthetically pleasing and logical. They’re closer to the kettle and the ice box.” She sighed. “Doesn’t make any sense to me but ya know Corny better than me.”

Geoffrey snorted as he took the usual white mug from the collection. This one had a chip in the rim and had a black streak stain on the handle where he had picked it up with grease on his palms. It was sentimental from his early days, much like the strong sentiment he held in keeping Reid’s pet plant. The original grew in his home, but he clipped a new sprout which now grew on the corner of his desk in his office. Another had been planted in the courtyard of Pembroke with Jonathan’s name etched in a stone beside it. One final remembrance to a man and a doctor who gave up everything for a city that didn’t want or appreciate him.

How bitterly Geoffrey felt now, after the words he spat in his maker’s face. He knew it wasn’t Reid’s fault. He was painfully aware of the games Swansea had played, how sharply that betrayal pierced the doctor’s heart when he discovered the truth behind his supposed friend’s efforts. The mournful look he shared with Geoffrey in the cemetery, as he imparted his final goodbye. Swansea was dead and Jonathan had the look of a man too broken hearted to fight much longer.

“I doubt ya came all the way in here to tell me Corny redecorated the kitchen.” Geoffrey reminded her.

“Ah, right. There’s a lass out front wanting to speak with ya.” She hiked a hand over her shoulder in direction. Her brunette hair pinned back into a neat bun easily concealed under a cap. She had a rounded pudgy face with a homely look to her that gave her that extra sibling-ish vibe to Geoffrey. Not to mention, he was a hundred years older than her, he couldn’t see her as anything other than a little sister. Similarly to the old dogs that pawed at him about  _ the old days.  _ Or the  _ when you were still in diapers  _ sort of speech. He amused himself at the thought of revealing his true age just to see their jaws drop in shock. Of course, the truth was less humorous and he’d never be so foolish as to do something as stupid as exposing himself.

_ Yeah, right. You already did that once tonight.  _ Geoffrey thought to himself. How reckless he had been, but mesmerizing a human wasn’t so simple as handwaving information. He could only use and manipulate that which they already knew. Adding new memories or thoughts caused a strain on the mind, left it broken and confused, or in some cases, it wouldn’t work at all. It would encourage resistance which could be deadly for the victim. He had no other choice if he wanted to get Jonathan back intact.  _ Now let's hope it doesn’t bite ya in the arse in return. _

He sighed. “Send her in.” O’Reilly nodded and took a step away from the doorway as Geoffrey passed. The weather was growing colder so the station had the heat cranked up, causing Little Lisa to dry out faster. He contemplated bringing her back home until the seasons changed back to something warmer and less taxing on her dainty leaves. He mourned the times she withered and shed dark brown spots, a worm of fear wore at his heart as he envisioned this as his last extension of Jonathan. To see it begin to die, felt like losing him all over again.

Geoffrey had his back turned towards his office door as he gently prodded the soil and meticulously distributed the water around the base. He thoughtfully caressed a thumb over a strong and healthy leaf, causing a small yet fond smile to grace his lips. It didn’t last long as a familiar scent drifted through the doorway.

He turned to find an unpleasant sight. Of course, of all days for the ‘esteemed’ Lady Ashbury to show up on his doorstep, it had to be today. He set the mug back on his desk and leaned against the edge with his arms folded. The casual approach made Elizabeth stop in her tracks just within the threshold of his doorway. Her fiery red hair was tied back in elegant yet complicated braids accompanied by a black dress suit and pencil skirt. Her heels clicked against the tile floor, lending to Geoffrey’s growing annoyance as he noted the casual disinterest of her expression as she gazed upon him.

The years have crawled by slowly and yet she never once changed. She remained the infuriating presence that dragged Reid along until he was left strung out and grasping at shadows with the hopes of doing her proud. She wasn’t his maker but as far as Geoffrey was concerned, she did more damage to the doctor than Myrddin ever did.

He recalled the night his desperation had reached an all time low and he made the trip to Scotland in hopes of finding Jonathan. Maybe he had been wounded or distressed after the fight with the Disaster, after all he had a habit of prostrating himself at her doorstep any other time, wounding himself to her beck and call. She had him strung around her fingers like a leash on a prized poodle, dragging him from ring to ring to perform at her will. Geoffrey sneered as he remembered the way she had received him with distrust. She sent him away with anguish and loathing in her eyes. 

_ “I have more pressing matters to attend to than to aid your foolish hunts, Mr. McCullum. If Jonathan does not wish to be found by you, then he has a good reason for it.” _

Weeks later, she supposedly searched for the nemrod in London, now convinced his concerns were warranted when others had voiced worry at the good and dutiful doctor’s disappearance.  _ It must have been such a struggle when your precious pet didn’t come when called.  _ Geoffrey mused.

“As much as it pains me to, I must ask for your help Mr. McCullum.” She folded her hands in front of herself, still the Ladyship, an identity she failed to shed even after all these years. Her expression was schooled to indifference but Geoffrey knew better. His eyes pierced the human masquerade she wore so determinedly and saw the sluggish cold beat of her heart. “Call me crazy if you wish, but I believe I witnessed Jonathan’s image on the news this morning and I’m concerned that he may be alive and in immediate danger.”

“Hm.” Geoffrey grunted, taking into consideration the reality of the situation, he had no intention of extending the truth to this woman. He forced himself to relax, refusing his temper the chance to rise like it had done so often in the past, and spoke as courteously as he could muster given the circumstances. He’d rather be speaking to  _ Swansea  _ of all people, cause then at least it would be entertaining. But alas, the damn Stole Brother was long past worm food after Jonathan left him to his untimely fate in the Theatre.

“I’ll call ya crazy because you have no place here. I’m giving you the same courtesy you gave me. Now get the fuck out of my office.” Geoffrey growled.

Nothing could be more satisfying in that moment then the quiet outrage that brewed on that carefully manicured facade. How dainty that mask was, as it turned brittle and threatened to crack. The anger that bristled beneath the surface was hidden impressively, though Geoffrey didn’t miss the subtle uptick of her heartbeat as she stared, shocked in his direction.

“I’m afraid you don’t understand-”

“Nah, I’m afraid yer the one not getting the message, leech. Yer not welcome here. Now leave or else things are about to get a lot less peaceful for you.” Geoffrey watched as she held firm for several seconds, the conflict danced in her eyes as she contemplated the risk versus the end result. He straightened up, his larger stature loomed over her, forcing her out of her stance to take a step back for modesty’s sake. He flexed his shoulders, a casual weary roll with an underlying threat. Even with all her years on this earth, Geoffrey was stronger only by the virtue of his blood and the years hard fought with Priwen from a young age. He was a warrior forged in blood, unlike her Ladyship and her delicate disposition.

After a moment more, she rescinded her approach and reluctantly stepped down.

“So be it.” She sighed, green eyes turned sternly on the nemrod with hidden disgust. “You may have given up on him, but I certainly haven’t.” 

Geoffrey snorted. “Aye, and where does he amount to on your list of priorities again? Before or after you pick up yer drying cleaning?”

“How childish. I would have thought you would change after all these years. It would appear I underestimated the relationship time has with maturity.” She turned on her heel with her final bitter jab and stormed out of the office with deadly precision. Geoffrey had the last bitter thought, hoping she snaps a heel off on her way out. O’Reilly lingered just beyond the doorway with a curious look in her eye and a wariness to her stance as she slowly approached.

“Everything alright Sarge?” She asked carefully.

“Aye, just an old bat come to harp me.” He waved dismissively, turning a softened eye towards the lass as he redirected the conversation. “Don’t ya have some incident reports to finish filing?”

“Ah, yeah.” She shrugged sheepishly. “Um, just stopped to have a cuppa?”

“Must be a mighty big cuppa.” He raised a brow at her, his eye turned towards her empty hands which fidgeted nervously with a bare thread on the hem of her uniform. She straightened up and bobbed her head quickly.

“Just finished. If ya need anything, just shout eh?”

“Right.” Geoffrey snorted, folding his arms over his chest as he turned his attention away from his subordinate and back towards little Lisa. Maybe he will take her home at the end of his shift. She could certainly use a more pleasant place to reside away from unwelcome guests and their foulness. He supposed Jonathan would like to see her as well, to witness the fruits of his efforts and the children of the plant he had once shared a very rare and human form of sympathy towards.


	4. Chapter 4

It was not often that Jonathan found himself in a position in which the affliction deterring his efforts could be diagnosed but not treated. Sadly, despite all his years of experience and the long full life he had lived leading up to his turning, he had yet to find a cure for the ever constant and inevitable plague that _guilt_ had caused him. Guilt was a phantom foe that had huddled in dark tents on the battlefield with him and whispered unfriendly and unhelpful advice in his ear. Guilt had become the shadow over his vision after he found his senses with the blood of his sister running between his fingers. Guilt had haunted him for many unholy years and now it made an astounding and startling return, slamming back into him with fervor as he laid upon the sofa in Geoffrey's home.

For a man who had spent his life as a caretaker with the goal to help and heal people, he found himself now lacking any point or purpose. Had he truly _helped_ a single soul in all these years? Or was he simply just prolonging a life before the inevitable end? Was he merely more than a hindrance that the citizens tolerated? Did Geoffrey simply tolerate him now? Did he regret pulling him from that morgue away from the threat of dissection and a more painful death? 

There were so many questions rattling around in his head and despite knowing the better option was to ignore them, knowing and doing were two very different beasts and he had yet to tame the latter.

He had the thought to leave, a fleeting intent that failed miserably as Jonathan took two steps outside Geoffrey's home and the assault on his senses brought back the earlier wave of nausea that had him clinging to the bathroom toilet. His head spun as dizziness crept back like a familiar friend he wanted little to do with. He cleaned up with a warm wet wash rag and huddled up on Geoffrey's couch with the hood drawn up around his face and all the lights off.

He was not meant for this world which struck him with the sudden fear that he will only be a reclusive thorn in his progeny's side. Whatever horrendous and cruel force that did this to him, he feared it may have finally defeated the ekon for good. With little else to keep his mind preoccupied, Jonathan found himself spiraling through hundreds of questions he had no answer to and forced his mind to dredge up what it could remember the night he faced the Red Queen.

Everything was all so hazy. The fight against Harriet Jones was a brutal one as he navigated a dangerous dance floor around her misshapen arm that swung obscenely at him. Her body warped into a raw throbbing nerve of hatred and agony, flesh drawn tight and bulging as bone crippled itself beneath his blows. He truly felt sympathy for the cursed creature that had become of Edgar's former patient. Knowing she was a result of a broken oath and poorly practiced ethics only fueled his anger further as he dealt the final blow to her miserable existence.

The blood that welled up around him hadn't been anticipated as she emerged from Harriet's corpse and loomed ominously over him like a titan of legend. Her bloody minions attacked as Jonathan narrowly avoided them, the flow of blood that flooded the cistern slowed his footwork and made him more prone to tripping and stumbling. His own speed was thwarted by her numbers in the claustrophobic space, hacking and slashing away with hacksaw and claws.

He couldn't recall what happened per se. A lucky blow maybe? Or his own delirious misfortune. As the fight raged and the Red Queen's anger grew more furious, Jonathan felt a dark twisted shadow tailing him throughout the rest of the fight. His back spasmed and tightened as the creeping sense of claws trailed up his spine and gripped his shoulder. He had turned to face it, expecting a minion to appear but nothing manifested.

Delivering a final frantic blow to the Morrigan made his blood run cold as her laughter grew, a hollow echo filling the cistern with unfamiliar words ringing in his ears. The blood started to rise around him, the sensation of claws gripping his shoulder multiplied as her minions came through the perverse miasma and seized him, holding him down as the blood swelled over his head.

_'No, I defeated her!'_ Jonathan had thought frantically as he struggled for freedom. Could a beast older than time itself ever truly be defeated or was this sick chess game unwinnable? Had this been Myrddin's ploy all along? It pained him to think, how many betrayals had stung his tender heart? How many losses has he had to face because of this living nightmare?

All his efforts were rewarded with misery. He could no longer sustain the desire to continue fighting. His newest predicament was more than certain of that as the ekon lay in a miserable heap on his progeny's sofa. How far had he truly fallen? Never in all his life had he felt so helpless against the tides of uncertainty. He had always rallied his determination and persevered despite the odds against him, but now, he hadn't even stable ground to stand on in this fight.

Maybe Geoffrey was right. Maybe it would have been better had he never woken up in that Morgue. If only he had remained lost to time, trapped in a blissfully ignorant and eternal sleep. It was certainly worth the try, though Jonathan doubted he'd succeed anything more than a sparse nap. The melancholy that besieged him forced him to his feet as he stumbled to the bathroom, already aware that bitter bloody tears were creeping from his eyes. The least he could do was at least refrain from staining Geoffrey's couch. The hoodie was sadly not so lucky as tears raced down his face as his shoulders shuddered in a chest aching sob.

He palmed at his face as the thoughts continued, of all the dead left behind. All his loved ones lost. His mother, Avery, Charlotte, Clarence and so many many more. He never got the opportunity to say goodbye and like a hot knife to his chest, a memory he had yet to experience slammed into him like a train crash.

Sean's voice echoed in his head, a distant ache, fearful and pleading as the Skal was forced to his knees before a frightened flock. His fingers clutched his rosary as the Sad Saint prayed for mercy and forgiveness, not for himself but for the men who held a shotgun to his head. The sound of a phosphorus round igniting silenced the Saint's final prayers and severed the memory for good.

Sean, sweet dearest Sean too kind for words to describe and as bold as they come. He was a man that defied all odds and untouched by the bitterness of anger and its horrid blight.

Jonathan came unraveled as his most dedicated progeny was vanquished in an echo of time. There was only so much he could take and Jonathan felt he had already stepped over his breaking point as he collapsed to the bathroom floor in body quaking sobs. His palms scrubbed at his face in haphazard attempts to stop the tears but it was inevitable as he curled in on himself and rocked in place.

_‘Jonathan.’_ The voice tickled at his thoughts, words so agonizingly familiar but so far away. Like a breath against his skin, he knew there was something there but he couldn’t wade through the waves before they crashed against him, sinking him deeper into a choking despair. His hands shook as he squeezed his eyes shut and felt the cooler tears slowly slide down his face in the colder house. The residual warmth from the earlier bath had faded, the steam that cloaked the mirror was almost completely gone. The dampness on the tile floor was cold against his bare feet. The faucet leaked with every fat ominous drop from the opening as a dizzying sensation pulled at him, light headed and frantic for air he didn’t need as he swallowed around another sob, he felt a shadow brush against him once more. More pointed now, directly targeting him in a similar fashion to Myrddin’s past tactics of blood vessels and eerie smokescreens that filled the air around him, disorienting his senses.

_‘Jonathan you need to focus. Listen to my voice.’_

_Geoffrey,_ the thought occurred as he sucked in a sharp breath and blinked through the red haze of his vision, peering around the darkened bathroom for his progeny. His vision was blurry despite his efforts to clear it with frantic swipes, but he found no sign or fresh scent of the Irishman.

_‘That’s it. Look for me. Listen to me.’_ Geoffrey coaxed, a flicker of light distorted through the windows as a car drove past and bright bluish lights beamed through casting startling shadows across the walls and making the ekon’s heart jump in momentary fear.

_‘Jonathan, you’re safe.’_ Geoffrey started, consoling the ekon tenderly. His voice was far softer now, absent of its earlier temper and aggression. Jonathan sniffled, confused as he wrapped his arms around himself, swallowing thickly around the mass in his throat and tasting blood on his tongue as he continued to gently rock back and forth in place.

“Geoffrey?” Jonathan called, the silence of the home answered him back. The brush of a shadow against his thoughts danced around the edges like a hand caressing his jaw.

_‘I’m here. I’m coming home.’_ Geoffrey assured him. _‘Just hold on a little longer.’_

“Geoffrey I’m so sorry.” Jonathan started, the words fumbling against his lips as he buried his face into his arms. He felt the dire burn in his throat once more as he coughed and gasped, shuddering breath accompanied the deep one he made a pitiful attempt for before sputtering out once again like a pathetic child with scraped knees.

_‘Ssshh, we’ll have none of that.’_ Geoffrey directed. _‘I’m almost there, just wait for me.’_ He added, a gentle paternal tutting in his voice as he rustled against Jonathan’s thoughts like a warm hand. Jonathan could only nod sharply in understanding and wait, though the minutes felt far too long, he did not wait alone with Geoffrey’s presence on his mind.

Jonathan could feel the warm flicker of Geoffrey’s presence as the automobile pulled up. The crunch of the tires on the street as the motor rumbled outside, he could feel the restless energy of his progeny as he hurried to the door. Jonathan squeezed his eyes shut and could hear the way Geoffrey fumbled with his keys to unlock the door and the heavy pound of his boots on the floor as he searched the house. The ekon looked up as Geoffrey’s shadow fell over the doorway, blinking the red tears away, he watched in genuine shock and relief as the nemrod dropped to his knees beside him, dragging Jonathan into his arms as fingers grappled the fabric of the hoodie and pulled him full body into his lap.

“It’s alright. I’m home now.” Geoffrey rumbled into his ear, the dark red stains around the nemrod’s own eyes were a faint smudge against his undeniably human expression of remorse. He smelled faintly of coffee and the underlying notes of blood and fresh rain that had speckled his coat and dampened his hair. Jonathan breathed in his progeny’s scent and let himself melt into the strong arms that held him firmly.

It came in a second wave, sudden and unrelenting as he caved under the pressure. Years of keeping a stiff upper lip, of maintaining a raised head and forging forward had been one endless charade as he steadily and inevitably fell apart inside. He patched up the flaws in the seams, smoothed over the cracks and painted on a splash more of color to hide that he was fading and withering inside with the fragile hopes that nobody would notice the decay that had befallen him. Even before his turning, the affair of playing the part had nearly been too much, a war ravaged his senses and gutted his heart and left it lying in the cold flooded trenches of France. He couldn’t resuscitate it, not even with his second life as he tumbled into the onslaught of misery that caged him in on every side until nothing but daggers remained poised at his throat and his back. He felt the piercing sting of betrayal, had it rend through his flesh and soul like barbed wire through a body unfortunate enough to tread the no man’s land that had become his life. Trip lines and hand grenades had become the obstacles in this balancing act and he was the one legged fool trying to hobble his way to a perceived safety carefully disguised to hide the pitfall trap beyond its embrace.

“I know, I know.” Geoffrey hushed him softly, the tickle of his breath against the shell of Jonathan’s ear was a soothing reminder that his progeny was here with him, strong and solid and alive. The fingers that carded through his hair were a welcome addition as Jonathan trembled and shuddered in his embrace, burying his face into the Irishman’s shoulder as his arms wrapped around Geoffrey’s waist. The hunter adjusted their position, using his nemrod strength to pull Jonathan the rest of the way into his lap so his back was against the cabinet and Jonathan was tucked around him, one arm cradling his back as they stretched their legs out.

“I shouldn’t have left ya alone like that.” Geoffrey started, his palm raised to wipe the tear stains away from Jonathan’s jaw as the nemrod continued. “It wasn’t right of me and I’m sorry. This world is confusin even for someone who’s been in it for a hundred years. It's always changin, always evolvin. I can only imagine how hostile it's become to ya, too many sights. Too many sounds. Everything you’ve known is gone now.”

Jonathan nodded, a slow jerky motion of his head as he reigned in his emotions and tried to calm down. He blinked away the tears that fell down his face and cooled, tacky and uncomfortable in his beard. Geoffrey’s blue eyes were ringed in similar agitations, the outline of tears shed and bloodshot from emotions that were not his own. Jonathan felt a nibbling sense of guilt for being another hindrance to his progeny, but the selfish desperate part of him didn’t want to care about that. Geoffrey was here now, and he was grateful for him. He was the pillar that remained after the life Jonathan had once known had been devolved to ruins.

“We will get through this together, alright Jonathan?” Geoffrey affirmed as he pressed his forehead against his Sire’s. Jonathan stifled a breath and met the touch as his fingers gripped at the front of Geoffrey’s coat, the material was slick and damp from his tears but the hunter didn’t seem bothered by it at all. “I won’t abandon you and you better not go running off on me again. Don’t make me have to hunt ya down’n make ya behave.”

There was a gentle swat to the back of Jonathan’s head that pulled a breathy laugh fron the ekon as he nodded again. As his frazzled nerves calmed, and the worst of his emotions overwhelming him abated, he closed his eyes and relaxed against his progeny. Geoffrey remained put, one hand tracing circles over his back as Jonathan focused on each breath in and out, listening to the hollow bitter sound of his own lungs far too loud in his ears and the sensitivity of his eyes after a good cry. They stayed like that with only their own quiet breathing and the soft patter of rain against the windows. Exhaustion was plucking at Jonathan’s thoughts as he felt the dawn inching closer, but he hadn’t the energy or the desire to move from his spot. If anything, he indulged in the brief impulse and got more comfortable.

There was a sense of relief that washed over him as Geoffrey made his promises and held him close. It felt like only yesterday that the Irishman was spitting insults and recoiling at his touch. He was apprehensive to come near the ekon or do much more than reluctantly tolerate his presence under the guise of a truce. A hundred years had certainly changed a lot and Jonathan felt like he had so much to make up for, too many apologies and too few words to express how deeply sorry he was and how much he regretted what had happened. 

That, as it would seem, would be for another day. The doctor hadn’t even the energy left in him to speak or move. He wanted to stay just like this and give into the brief reprieve, afraid that when the sun rises and sets once again, the old Geoffrey will return, bitter, resentful and distant to him. Maybe that was alright and he rightfully deserved the cold shoulder but for now, he couldn’t be more grateful for the efforts of his progeny.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this update. I'm going to be frequently bouncing from fic to fic for a little bit updating sporadically. I do hope to get an update out each night, but the which fic it will be for will be up in the air until the time to post comes. I do hope to get a few more chapters out for this one though. 
> 
> Enjoy! ^.^

Geoffrey felt an immense wave of guilt as he held his Sire like a frightened child clinging to his chest. The way he trembled, broken and confused in his arms. The Jonathan he remembered was a shadow of his former self, a man beaten beyond comprehension by time and absence. The suave ever confident doctor that took everything in casual stride was but a fading memory as the man that laid before him was soaked in bloody tears. The hoodie was a lost cause as crimson streaks spread into dark puddles of harbored pain. He continued to console him even as Jonathan calmed down to shuddering sighs and eventually went still in his lap, only the sluggish beat of his heart was a sign that he remained awake in his arms.

The night was waning fast and Geoffrey was beyond tired at this point. It was a rare moment when the officer had to leave work abruptly, mumbling a family emergency as the echoes of Jonathan's emotions started to pulse inside of himself. He barely had enough time to make it to his car when the tears started to fall and he forced his mind to quiet enough to reach out to his maker.

How strange it was, for Geoffrey to realize Jonathan may be the older vampire, but the Irishman was more experienced in molding minds and manipulating powers compared to his stronger maker. The distant impulses he once felt from the reserved man were nothing like the jarring ripples that bombarded him with little self-control even as Geoffrey aided in curbing them. The raw emotions alone nearly crippled his awareness and almost had him rear-ending a vehicle before him.

This world was cruel in comparison to the dull and quiet streets of London. The tremors of ages ago felt so far away now and yet, so close he could touch them like crystalized memories, too fragile to be safe, he feared they may shatter if he dared revisit them. Allowing only the briefest shadows to warm his cold sluggish heart, Geoffrey recalled the bitter morsels that once made Reid the impressive man he once had been. An image so far off now as he gazed upon the remnants of the man that was heaped in his lap, Geoffrey couldn't help but blame himself for allowing Reid to run off on his own that night. At least, in some small way, he thought he should have at least admitted the truth to the ekon. Rather his feelings would have made him more guarded or caused a painful distraction, it had yet to be seen but maybe, he would have felt better during that century in knowing that Reid knew he lacked the resentment he wished he could hide behind. That those bitter words he flung at him before weren't meant for Jonathan's ears but were the same brutal accusations he had been slinging at himself for so long that their sting became second nature.

"Come'ere Reid." Geoffrey spoke gently as he cradled the ekon against his chest. "Sun's coming up soon. Let's get ya cleaned up and to bed." He turned his gaze on the doctor who, despite his large size, felt as fragile as a child tucked against his chest. His face remained pressed against Geoffrey's shoulder as he clung to him with weary fingers grasping fabric between his knuckles. His shoulders sagged in exhausted resignation as he slowly bobbed his head in silent agreement. Neither made any further move to rise from their spot and Geoffrey wasn't in too much of a hurry. He could let it slide just a moment more until the ekon had the motivation to get his feet under him.

They rolled through the motions clumsily as they finally disentangled their limbs and found their footing. Jonathan swayed on his own two feet, a clumsy hand scrubbing at his eyes as he sniffled, his arm wrapped around himself for comfort. Geoffrey let his own arm remain in a half embrace, tucking the ekon against his side as he reached for a clean washcloth and turned the water to warm. Scrubbing the blood away and changing their stained and filthy clothes into something clean and fresh led them back to Geoffrey's bedroom. Jonathan was tucked into a new sweatshirt now while the Irishman sat him down on the edge of the bed, holding a moment longer while he tossed the laundry in the wash while they slept.

Jonathan looked conflicted for a moment as Geoffrey dug out a spare blanket for the ekon, the weight of it was heavy in the Irishman's hands as he draped it over the doctor's lap. He watched as Jonathan smoothed his hands over it thoughtfully before preparing the bed for them both. It wasn't unusual for Geoffrey to defy his nature as a Nemrod and stay up past the rising sun. With adequate preparation, he could even go out and about in broad daylight but in moderation and with ample sunscreen to shield him from the sun's irritation. It had become a bit of a habit but this morning he felt like allowing himself the break from his forced routine and settled down beside the doctor as they awaited the coming day.

He didn't miss the restless shifting from Jonathan as he picked at the edges of the blanket with a quietness that was uncharacteristic of the man who had too many words for every occasion. The silence was almost uncomfortable as Geoffrey adjusted his pillow and tucked his arm under his head, eventually submitting to the underlying impulse that crept along his thoughts, whether it was a quiet request from his maker or his own feelings demanding the gesture, Geoffrey couldn't tell and didn't care to find out as he looped his free arm around Jonathan's shoulders and tucked him back against his chest. The ekon visibly relaxed in the comfortable embrace and looped his own arms hesitantly around Geoffrey as he buried his face back into the front of the nemrod's shirt.

"Ya don't gotta be strong all the time, Reid." Geoffrey mumbled into the crown of his hair and sighed. "The world don't need saving anymore. You can rest at ease now." The muffled grunt of agreement followed as Geoffrey brushed his palm along the ekon's shoulders until he felt that telltale _give_ that told him his maker had succumbed to the call of sleep.

* * *

Geoffrey was up long before Reid with the setting sun an hour off, he went about his usual routine. Folding the laundry from earlier, he took the time to clean and organize the place a little bit. Little Lisa had taken a prime position on the kitchen counter as Geoffrey leaned against it while waiting for his supper to warm up in a hot water bath. He prodded gently at the soil around her pot to check on its dampness then brushed a thumb over her vibrant greenery with a fond smile.

He had already called into work to take the night off, keeping the personal emergency excuse while he focused on getting Reid settled in better than he had before.

As he carried the laundry into their shared room, Geoffrey noticed the small signs of movement that told him the ekon was slowly waking up. He squirmed under the additional pile of blankets, seemingly burrowing further under the hoard as if to hide from the new day in stubborn refusal. Geoffrey chuckled to himself as he sympathized with the feeling, coming to sit back on the edge of the bed.

"Reid."

He was answered by a muffled grunt. Geoffrey poked the large lump beneath the blankets.

"Reid."

"Mmf." Was the response. A few seconds passed before the blankets lowered just enough for a pair of pale eyes to peek out at him, blinking the heavy weight of sleep away.

"Yer more stubborn than a bear after hibernation." Geoffrey huffed, amused as the bedraggled hair disheveled every which direction. It stuck up in small elusive spikes at the front while others fell before his eyes.

"If only hibernation were possible." Jonathan sighed, sneaking a hand up from under the blankets to rub at his eyes and clear his grogginess.

"In a way it sorta is." Geoffrey pointed out. "I mean, that's technically what ya did for a century, right?"

Jonathan paused, hand frozen mid motion as he cleared his vision. He withdrew it and blinked in sluggish thought. The typical reservation was absent, making every thought and feeling an echoed impression on his expressions. Either that, or Geoffrey had just improved at reading his Sire that much in the last hundred years.

"I'm not sure." He admitted softly. "I don't-" Reid furrowed his brows in concentration as he searched his memories. Geoffrey could feel the gentle bump in his thoughts as Reid rummaged around himself to find the answer. 

"What do you remember?" Geoffrey hoped the question could help tease an answer free.

"Blood." Jonathan responded bluntly. "A well of blood so vast I felt like I was drowning in it and the Morrigan's wicked taunts in my ears as she laughed at my failure."

"I don't think it was a failure Reid. The skal pandemic ended after you vanished." Geoffrey confirmed. He recalled those nights clearly as the sewer beasts and the blood of hate skals seemingly disappeared over night. No new cases popped up and the pandemic was over sooner than they could have imagined. The spanish flu was still rampant, which was to be expected, but the leech plague had died early and quickly. Geoffrey knew he had Reid to thank for that as he scoured the streets and cut down the last remnants of the beasts, ensuring a safe and free London once more.

As painful as it was to think about, Reid gave up everything for the sake of the city and there was no one left to remember him for his sacrifice. He fought a bloody war in the shadows, alone without a single soul to aid him and Geoffrey, foolishly, had cast him aside for all of his efforts. Only after he had lost the doctor had he felt the true weight of his actions and blamed himself for every last bit of it. A thousand what ifs had cluttered his mind every hour of the day as he chased that echo of Reid's presence that was nearly snuffed out the night he 'died'. 

It had always been there like an itch he couldn't scratch and eventually he grew numb to it. Then suddenly it came back to life, bright and burning like a hearth fire in a cold dark room beckoning Geoffrey to come find him. Calling out to the nemrod in soft pleas and searching pulses. It was only by luck that Geoffrey saw the news before he went to bed with Jonathan's face plastered across it begging to be identified. A stroke of luck that the man had dropped into his own home city, or perhaps a coincidence beyond either of their comprehension.

Thankfully Geoffrey had the ability to pull a few strings and find out about the case involving his Sire before promptly sweeping it under the rug.

"London was saved then?" Jonathan's voice was deeply relieved at the confirmation. That he had set out to do what he said he would and he achieved it. "I'm glad to hear it."

"You did good and now you can finally rest." Geoffrey assured him.

Jonathan gave a subtle bob of his head before a thought occurred to him. "I don't know what the Morrigan had done to me but I can't help but be worried as to why _now?_ "

"Reid?" Geoffrey asked, puzzled by the sternness of the doctor's tone.

"Why am I here? Why now? And why did I appear in Dublin of all places, instead of London where I was fighting her?" Jonathan pressed, squirming from under the blankets to sit upright. Geoffrey recognized the way those gears began turning, trying to deduce the reasoning behind a particularly perplexing problem. 

If he dared say so, Geoffrey would remark that the old Reid was starting to come back. One little shred at a time. A slow recovery, it would appear. 

"Fate's grand design is not something for us to question Reid." Geoffrey let out a breathy chuckle. "For all you know, it was the last desperate act of revenge against you for stopping her and even it failed just like the epidemic."

"Maybe so." Reid pursued his lips as he continued thinking heavily on the subject. Geoffrey shook his head as he snagged an arm around the doctor's shoulders and dragged him towards him.

"And maybe you should put the past to rest 'n think about the future. Like breakfast for example. Ya haven't eaten since when? 1918?" Geoffrey teased as Jonathan gave a half hearted struggle to escape the friendly headlock before being released suddenly. He straightened up and carded his fingers through his messy hair, a sheepish smile drawn on his face as the doctor admitted.

"I may be a bit peckish."

Geoffrey didn't need leech hearing to notice the audible rumble of the ekon's stomach. He cocked a brow at that statement, daring Jonathan to correct himself.

"Okay, maybe I am a bit famished. Does the modern age by any chance have rats?" He purred.

"Yer in luck Reid. Since we are no longer at a war that is causing food and livestock shortages, you have an extensive buffet of wildlife and farm raised dinners to choose from. You need only consult yer local butcher." Geoffrey exclaimed dramatically, giving the doctor a gentle shove towards the edge of the bed, urging him to get up.

Now was the perfect time for Reid to give the outside world a second chance while perusing the offered containers of animal blood that the local deli sold for cooking purposes. It was a picky vampire's grand buffet.

But first, he had to get the ekon out of bed.


End file.
